Chasing the Ace
by Salmagundi
Summary: Marco knows it's all a game Jimmy's playing, but that doesn't mean he's not hoping he'll win. Jimmy/Marco fic. Pre-Better Call Saul.


**Chasing the Ace**

 **Prologue**

 **\- May, 1989 -**

"It's not there."

Smoke billowed from Jimmy's lips, rising between the two of them in the already smoggy air as he fixed Marco with a steady stare. The cigarette dangled from his fingers, the thin line of red creeping toward his hand at a slow but steady pace, leaving dull grey ash in its wake. It was just a few seconds of silence, but coming from Jimmy, it felt like an eternity. "It's there."

Marco gave a slow chuckle, half aborted for a second as he tried to figure out if Jimmy was kidding him, resuming as he decided he was. "C'mon, Jimmy. It's not there. It's in your sleeve or something."

Jimmy fixed him with a stare, the expression's effectiveness not marred by the long strands of hair threatening to fall across his eyes. It might have been a forbidding look on anyone else, but on Jimmy it broke into a twitch of a smile almost immediately. He leaned back slightly on his stool, raising both hands and somehow not dropping the cigarette. "Alright. You got me. I palmed the card. It's up my sleeve with the five hundred scarves and the rabbit I carry around everywhere." The fingers of his free hand went to just above his elbow, tugging at the wide hem of his short sleeved shirt.

Yeah. Marco had to admit that seemed unlikely and he took another slug on his bottle while trying to puzzle it through. Jimmy was still giving him that look, sizing him up, grinning just a little as he reached out and flipped over the card on the left. It was the ten of clubs. It rocked on its folded edge for a moment but Jimmy was already moving on, flipping over the right card to reveal the ten of diamonds.

"Last one." Jimmy pointed to the unrevealed card on the bartop, tapping it with his finger. "Ace of spades. That's what you wanna find here." He tipped his head toward Marco. "Turn it over."

"...you're shittin' me?" Marco's nose wrinkled. "I've seen those TV specials with the guy showing how they do these things." When Jimmy said nothing, Marco gave a sharp snort - mingled incredulity and amusement. "Fine." His thick fingers closed on the corner of the card and he turned it over into his palm. "Well, I'll be damned."

The ace of spades sat in his hand, the picture on the card creased through the center from being folded.

"So you didn't Copperfield it." Marco's thumb grazed along the card face, tracing the edge of the ornate spade with one blunt nail. "Coulda sworn they showed this one on that show, though."

Jimmy flicked the ash from his cigarette, letting it rest in the ashtray as he coiled his fingers around the neck of his bottle. Marco's eyes followed the condensation as it gathered against Jimmy's skin, escaping to run in slow rivulets down the side of the bottle. He raised the glass to his lips and took a long pull, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He was considering his words, Marco knew him well enough now to tell. Then his shoulders lifted in a shrug.

"That's magician stuff." He said at last. "They're paid to show off. A little flash, a little pizazz. Maybe some sparklers and a sexy chick in a bikini. They want to have everyone looking at em. But this -" he gestured toward the overturned cards with a wide sweep of his hand. "It's about subtlety."

Maybe he could tell that Marco was having trouble the notion - or at least with wrapping his head around the words, because he let out a long breath. "Look. Here, I'll show you the difference." He plucked the ace from Marco's hand, setting the three cards down on the counter. He made a motion at them, a slightly muted version of 'ta-da!' "Okay. Cards. We're all psyched up here..." The words were under his breath, soft enough that Marco realised they weren't meant for him. Jimmy was just getting in the zone. He cleared his throat and spoke louder. "So the game is simple, right. Three cards. To win it, you've got to find this," with a deft flick of his wrist he held up the ace of spades.

It was back on the table a moment later. Marco was watching intently, trying to follow Jimmy's motions as much as the card that was supposed to be the ace. The rise and fall of the patterned card backs was hypnotic somehow, a rhythmic but jumbled flurry. Jimmy's hands were different than when he talked, steady and purposeful in a way they hadn't been just a moment before.

Maybe it was all a trick, a bit of sleight of hand, but to Marco it was magic.

The cards came to a halt, settling on the smooth wood. Jimmy straightened them in a fastidious manner, leaning back and gesturing to the three-card spread, palms open. "So," he smiled with his lips tight together. "Where's the ace."

Marco looked at the cards, at the card he'd been following. He already knew Jimmy had switched it out somehow, though he'd missed the action even with Jimmy's short sleeves making things more obvious. His nose wrinkled as the thought flashed across his mind that maybe Jimmy hadn't switched the cards at all and this was part of some other trick entirely, but Marco dismissed the notion. He shrugged, pointing to the card on the right.

Deft fingers flipped the other two cards to expose the tens. Jimmy then flicked at the remaining card, nudging it toward Marco who reached out and picked it up. Turned it slowly in his hand.

It wasn't the ace. That realisation dispelled any lingering doubts about the possible underlying motives for this demonstration. Still, as soon as it sank in just what card he was holding instead, he couldn't help but arch a brow at the choice of replacement.

"So," Jimmy's words danced with amusement that he didn't bother to hide. "Didja find it?"

A snort escaped Marco as he turned the card around, flashing the red suit. "King of hearts. But you knew that already ya butthole." His mock ire melted into a grin. "So that's how magicians do it? I mean how's that different than before?"

There was a long pause in the wake of his question. Marco frowned at this, watching Jimmy's expression. It was hard to read him sometimes, but he seemed to be thinking about something. A moment later, his expression relaxed and he eased forward on his stool, resting a hand on Marco's upper arm.

It tingled.

"Okay. See, here's the king-" Jimmy plucked the card from Marco's hand, "-just so you know, this one's not normally my game, but..." his shoulders rose in a shrug, "why not?" Any notion that Jimmy suffered from a lack of skill was dispelled by the easy way he moved the cards. Even without being serious, it was still impressive. Marco got the impression, though, that he was just warming himself to the task. Talking himself into it, maybe.

He didn't have to wonder why. It had taken nearly a year to get to this place, this bar, this conversation. Marco had to remind himself that two months ago he hadn't even known Jimmy's real name, just a series of aliases that got more and more far fetched until 2 am and ten empty bottles between them had pulled the truth from Jimmy's tongue. It had taken days longer for him to believe it. And now there was something about the entirety of this that felt like... like being on the verge of something. Some breakthrough. He wasn't sure what or why, but watching the play of Jimmy's hands across the dark card-backs brought him close enough to taste it. Marco hadn't realised how hungry he was for the knowledge until just now.

Marco wasn't even sure why he bothered with the pretense of detachment where Jimmy was concerned, but it seemed necessary. Jimmy was settled onto his stool and giving a small smile that belied his concentration, but he could be gone just as quickly. So he didn't rush Jimmy. Didn't push. Didn't dare.

Jimmy's breathing sounded loud in the small space between them, or maybe it was just the thudding pulse in Marco's ears. The cards settled for a moment in the standard configuration and then Jimmy picked up the cards, showing Marco the two tens again. "So, you've got your tens, but hey, you know the drill here-" Jimmy held up the last card, the middle card. It was still the king of hearts, regal and unmistakable.

"King of hearts. The suicide king. Romantic, right?" Jimmy's small bark of laugher pitched high at the end before fading on the air. "Find his royal highness and you win. Cash. Kudos. Whatever. Are you paying attention?" He flipped the heart card over, hands beginning to move, giving an odd little hiccup as he swept the cards up, a stiltedness that faded as Jimmy's motions steadied into an easy rhythm. He raised and dropped the cards and Marco could follow the king as it moved across the table, back again, up and down in the shuffle.

It was too easy. He could tell that Jimmy was going a lot more slowly than he would usually have. When Jimmy spread the cards again, straightening them before their eyes met, Marco had a bead on the card he was supposed to be finding. He didn't move at first, scanning the card backs, then looking at Jimmy again. Jimmy was still tense in a way he hadn't been earlier and Marco felt the sharpness of it scraping at his nerve endings.

He cleared his throat, tapping his fingers against the bar but saying nothing. He was less concerned with the cards and more with the fact that Jimmy seemed ready to bolt for no reason Marco could understand. Still, Jimmy seemed to take his hesitation as something else.

"So, you've gotta find the king-" Jimmy began, oddly serious, and Marco found he couldn't resist. He just had to do something to pop this bubble of tension around them.

"I thought I was looking for the ace." His tone was light, teasing.

Jimmy gave him a blank stare and Marco could see the wheels in his head turning. His mouth shut for a moment, opened again and his voice was dry, but a sardonic sort of dry. "Ha ha. Well now you're looking for the king, smart guy. He's got more money. Besides, we hate the monarchy."

"We do?" Marco arched a brow, pushed the ridiculousness further. "Why?"

"Because I'm American and my name is McGill." Jimmy rapped his knuckles against the bar. "Focus, okay? I'm revealing some trade secrets here and I'm expecting some guy to come along and whack me before I get to the good stuff." His shoulders were loose now, body sagging slightly into the chair and Marco snorted in laughter and relief.

"Yeah, well, the card's right there by your hand, butthole." He pointed to the card on the left and Jimmy flipped it over. Ten of Diamonds, and if he'd been betting money he'd be paying it out now.

"Close." Jimmy smirked, flipping the rightmost card. "Not close enough."

Marco wasn't surprised, but he hadn't expected to be. His eyes were on Jimmy, not the cards. There was something here he was trying to make sense of, but it wasn't the card trick. "So why isn't it your game? It seems less complicated than some of the scams I've seen you do-" His words cut off with a sharp snap as Jimmy's hand rose in a silencing gesture.

Jimmy's expression was scathing and Marco wasn't sure why. It took a moment, but Jimmy looked away with a sigh, pinching at the bridge of his nose. "They're not scams." Marco worried his lip for a moment, not sure where Jimmy was going with this, but he was led there soon enough. "I prefer the term 'con' as in 'confidence trick'. Which, by the way, is where the term comes from." Jimmy reached for the nearly burned out cigarette, only a scant distance between the lighted tip and his fingers as he took a drag. The words curled from his lips. "It's more elegant."

He tapped at the bar top, right beside the cards. "As for why - as in why I don't use this particular con - it's because it's a hard game to run without a shill."

Marco felt like he'd heard that word before. Even without knowing for certain he could almost guess based on the context. Even so... "Shill?"

It earned him a breathless laugh, a sound that set his own breath hitching for a second. "A shill. A plant. Man, you _are_ new to this." Jimmy's eyes had a gleam to them. "Look. When you're fishing for cash, you've gotta have some bait, right? In this case, the bait is the green stuff. Money." As if Marco couldn't have guessed it himself. "But - here's the trick. The really important part." Jimmy leaned in conspiratorially, hands held up right in front of him, palms out and the butt of the cigarette somehow still caught tightly in his teeth. "You gotta have a _hook_.

"That's your plant. Someone to play the game, but he's winning. Makes the other guy think 'well, this looks easy'. Then when your guy has convinced himself he can win, he's taken the bait. All you gotta do is reel him in." Jimmy tapped the overturned ten. "A lot of cons run like that-" His knuckles rapped the wood. "- a good shill. Best asset a con man has." His cigarette settled into the ashtray as he leaned back on his stool. "And _that_ , as they say, is what separates the men from the boys."

A little thrill ran through Marco at that, at all of it. He was surprised he kept his calm. "And what about you, huh? Are you a man or a boy?" The words didn't come out the way he'd wanted or expected. Not at all. He wished he could snatch them back as they slid off his tongue. He felt the heat rising to his cheeks and hoped the dimness of the bar would cover it.

Jimmy's brow arched at that, his lips parting slightly. Marco was hyper aware of the way Jimmy's tongue flicked just across his upper teeth. It was only for a moment, and then Jimmy was giving him that trademark McGill grin, his lanky form practically oozing onto the bar in a stance too casual to be anything but deliberate. "I'm an _artist_."

Marco cleared his throat. The sound echoed loud in his ears as he was the first to tear his gaze away, looking very deliberately down at the cards. "So, you didn't say how - uh - how you did the thing. With the card."

"Classic misdirection." Jimmy rested his chin on his palm, eyes half-lidded as he looked down at the bar top, where Marco's hands fidgeted. "You've got your eye in the wrong place." Marco's gaze jerked up, meeting Jimmy's blue eyes. They looked darker, half-hidden beneath his lashes. Deep with secrets that Marco needed to drown himself in. He wondered what game they were really playing here.

"Look. Right here." Jimmy's hands went to the cards on the bar, righted them. Marco's eyes flitted down to the motion, his breath catching. With the first flick of his fingers, Jimmy's lips were moving, the cards hitting the table and beginning the shuffle. The words didn't register. The hypnotic flash of the cards in Jimmy's swift hands didn't register. He was definitely looking in the wrong place, still caught in the promise in Jimmy's eyes.

He had no idea where the king was.

"So..." Jimmy rolled the word on his tongue. "What'll it be?"

Marco swallowed. Hard. "Yeah." It was the stupidest thing to say, ever. But yes. Just fuckin' yes. He gestured to one of the cards without even looking at it and caught what he thought was a brief flicker of surprise in Jimmy's expression.

Both of them looked down to where he was pointing, the card sitting unassuming and almost serene between the two of them. Jimmy reached out his hand slowly, his fingers brushing the patterned card back. There was a faint hesitance there, like he wasn't sure himself what lingered underneath. There was a slight crease between his brows. His finger slipped beneath the card to flip it over-

-and Marco caught his hand, held him there by the wrist and part of his palm, an unsteady grip. Cut him short of the reveal.

Stupid. Fuckin' stupid. God.

Marco leaned across the gap, praying he was drunker than he felt as he mashed his lips against Jimmy's: hard and needy in ways he couldn't think about right now.

He wasn't sure if Jimmy was kissing back or just not moving away, but the card stayed down and Jimmy tasted like smoke and hops and freedom - and fuck, why had he not done this before?

The words were still there. He remembered them now. Jimmy's hands on the cards and that dire promise, so soft on his breath.

 _You've already lost._

And god damn him, but he didn't even _care_...


End file.
